


Tiny Morty

by messofthejess



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Baby!Morty, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Meetings, Gen, Rick is a sap again, it's only rated Teen because Rick swears infrequently, the explanation for Birdperson's photo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messofthejess/pseuds/messofthejess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rick meets his toddler grandson for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiny Morty

          I wander out from under the streetlights after the portal zips shut, wondering for the thousandth time tonight why Beth moved out to the fucking suburbs. Minivans, white PVC fences, unchipped curbs, vinyl-sided houses in four coordinating shades of white and gray. It’s all so irritatingly _perfect_. I hack a loogie into the grassy boulevard just to put something out of place.

The move had to have been Jerry’s idea. This is such a Jerry area, his idea of a good place to raise a family. Raise a family with _my_ daughter, _my_ Beth, all because he couldn’t bag his pubescent banana properly. I would not hesitate to push that asshole off a cliff, or at least a very steep hill _if I could find any kind of incline in this godforsaken place I mean seriously there is no topographical variation here whatsoever what the fuck._

Hey, at least I can see the stars out here. Not as much light pollution.

I swear, the only reason I’m here is to check up on a rumor. The Council of Ricks dragged my ass into their headquarters again (crass graffiti on Planet Gazorpazorp or whatever), and I overheard a couple of Ricks talking about some major trans-dimensional development.

“My Beth just had a baby boy!” one Rick said. He was from K-185, a dimension that moved about a couple years behind my home one. “She named him Morty. Pretty sweet name, huh?”

“Who cares about his name?” the other Rick replied. He was decked out in your typical post-apocalyptic battle gear, and he flexed his gloved hand as he spoke. “What’s important is his brain wave activity. Even as an infant, his levels are complementary to ours, making us virtually invisible to any enemy who can read minds.”

“That’s a pretty impressive quality, given how we’re geniuses,” interjected another Rick.

“Well, he’s still a pretty cute little kid,” the first Rick mumbled. “Useful _and_ cute.”

_Cute_ is not a word in my vocabulary that I use too often. Unpopular opinion here, but babies are almost universally ugly. They squall, shit their pants, eat baby food that isn’t so much food as it is pulverized, tasteless paste, and can’t do anything worth a damn except sleep. And _every_ new parent thinks their chubby flesh-munchkin is the absolute best baby in all the multiverse. I know, because I had one once. Beth was my world. But I would not have called her a cute infant.

Still, it was worth checking out this Morty kid. I’m still pissed that Jerry managed to unload a second round of loser DNA into my daughter, though. Fuck him for that. Morty might be just a baby, but he’s already got the odds stacked against him in terms of life success. Rough road ahead.

I’m about 93% sure this white house in front of me is Beth’s, at least according to the scanner on my portal gun. It’s not like I have any moral objections to breaking and entering—I just don’t want to do it more than I need to. Seriously, I’d rather end up in front of the Galactic Federation than sit in county jail in my home dimension until morning. I tuck the portal gun in my coat pocket, jump for the gutter, hoist myself up onto the red roof, and tiptoe across toward the house.

One of these rooms belongs to Summer, Beth’s daughter—yup, it’s the pink one stuffed with white unicorn toys. A little girl, maybe four or five, snoozes in the fluffiest little-kid bed I’ve ever seen, her fiery hair sprawled on her pillow. Asleep, she looks a lot like her grandma…I get a little pang in my chest as I duck down from the open window.

_Now’s not the time for reminiscing, Rick,_ I tell myself. _You’ve got a Morty to find._

Thankfully, the nursery is the other window over. My shoe slips and I damn near fall off the garage roof, but I scramble and grab the windowsill just in time to catch myself. Jesus, that was close. Would have been a hell of a lot to explain to my estranged daughter if I survived the fall. With one hand, I push the window halfway open and slip inside. I am so glad I’m a beanpole.

_Really_ , Jerry? Yellow for a nursery? Maybe it looks like sunshine and happiness during the day, but in the moonlight it looks like old man piss. What a color for a kid to wake up to.

The wooden crib is on the other side of room, near the other window. I shuffle across the play mat, kicking aside various squeaky toys and board books that are in my way. Thankfully, the door is shut, so if Beth or Jerry should get any ideas about checking on their kid, I’ll hear them. Just a little closer…

A mobile with soft blue stars and gold crescent moons (nice choice, Beth) dangles above the crib. A gray stuffed elephant lays outside the blankets, flung away in sleep. And under those blankets, with tiny brown curls spilling over his forehead, is Morty.

My grandson.

Holy shit, I have a grandson.

He’s so _tiny._

His chest moves up and down with each little breath, and one chubby fist reaches out for the stuffed elephant. His feet shift and kick under the blankets—do babies dream? W-what can they even dream about when they’re so little? Probably colors and weird shapes, so really no different than adults.

How old _is_ he? I was never good with the whole telling age by month thing. Leona could recite Beth’s age down to the minute, I swear, but I-I’d tell you my daughter was halfway between one and two years old. Pissed Leona off to no end, ‘cause I suppose she thought it meant I didn’t care. Not true. Well, at least not in the way _she_ thought.

Anyway, judging by his body length and whatnot, Morty has to be about 18 months old. Ah, that sweet spot where they’re not as useless as an infant, but still too young to start asking questions about what you’re doing in the garage. The inquisitive age damn near drove me crazy with Beth. Questions are a sign of budding intelligence, though, so I c-couldn’t complain too much.

It’s against my better judgment, but I reach down into the crib and scoop Morty up in my arms. With my luck, he’ll wake up screaming for his parents. But no, he stays fast asleep, the blankets tangled around his tiny stockinged feet. I balance him in the crook of one arm and flip the blankets back into the crib.

So this is what the other Ricks were talking about. This little guy supposedly has the perfect brain waves to complement mine. When he’s older, he’ll be able to work like a mental shield against enemies. Who knows? Maybe he’d be good at science, too. Though with Jerry as a father, I think I’ll have to hedge my bets on that.

Jesus, Morty is so small. I’m delicate with things that matter, yet I was always terrified with Beth that I’d make one wrong move and she’d be a goner. My hands try to find the places Leona taught me to put them. One behind the knees for support, and cradle the back of the head. Yeah…yeah, it’s coming back to me now. With Morty firmly in my arms, his cheek pressed against my lab coat, I walk back over to the window I came in and look up at the stars.

“Hey, Morty. I-I know you’re fast asleep right now, but I wanted to say hi. I’m your Grandpa Rick,” I whisper to him. “You-you might not see me around much for the first few years of your life. I’ve got a bad habit of disappearing from kids’ lives for a while.”

Thank God he’s not old enough to get the dark joke yet.

“Ah, your mom will tell you all about that when you’re older, I’m sure. I l-like to hang out up in the stars, Morty. Waaaaaaay up in the stars and galaxies, up above the world so freakin’ high. I’ve got a bunch of friends up there—okay, maybe only two, really. Birdperson and Squanchy. They’re _so_ not appropriate for kids. Helluva great pair to party with, though. Hey, that reminds me.”

I shake my sleeve up my wrist and speak into my watch. “Set camera timer for five seconds. No flash.” I hold the watch up in front of us, making sure to get Morty in the frame. There’s a tiny click, and a photo of the two of us shows up on screen.

“Send to contacts Birdperson, Squanchy. Oh man, they are gonna freak when they see—”

I pause because Morty stirs on my chest. His mouth opens in a little yawning O, and his eyes flutter open, drowsy with sleep. I chance a glance down, and he’s staring right back up at me. Unsettling. A little kid shouldn’t be able to look at you that hard.

“H-hey, Morty. Nice of you to join the land of the living.”

He reaches for the lapel of my lab coat and squeezes it in his fist. Seriously, does he not know how to look away? Or wait…maybe he’s trying to figure out who the hell I am in the darkness. Don’t babies usually cry when strangers hold them?

Cautiously, I step forward into the moonlight streaming through the window so he can get a better look at my face. His forehead wrinkles, but he’s still not crying. Does this mean he trusts me, or is he just naïve?

“Well, l-l-like I said, little guy. I’m your Grandpa Rick. Kinda surprised you’re not bawling your eyes out right now, to be honest, but—h-hey, what are you doing?”

Morty has grabbed inside my lab coat, his fingernails making a tinny scratching noise against metal. Takes me a second to register what he’s got his hand on, but then it clicks.

“Whoa, whoa, Morty. No touchy,” I say, moving his hand away from my flask. “That’s, uh, that’s Grandpa’s bottle. Yeah, adults have bottles too. And _I_ suck on this when I get upset with the universe, just like you do. Not a good habit, though. Definitely not for someone your age.”

Morty tilts his head like a puppy, and for a second I wonder if he’s comprehending what I’m saying. He doesn’t argue with me at all, just moves his chubby little hand back to my lapel. For the first time, he looks away from me and up into the night sky. He seems to like what he sees, because he reaches out for the window to get closer.

“Oh, you like the stars, huh?” I give him a boost so he’s at my shoulder. “Lotsa crazy things up there, Morty, things your little brain can’t even conceive of yet. Planets and asteroids teeming with life, aliens like nothing you’ve ever imagined, and lots of space between the stars. I-I’ll be honest with you, Morty. It can get pretty lonely up there, especially for an old man like me. Sometimes I wish I had a companion, a-a little buddy to ride along with me.”

Shit. I’d never admitted that to myself before, and now I’ve just admitted it to a toddler. Yeah, I get lonely traveling through time and space. I never stay in any one place for too long, because the Council of Ricks or the Federation or _somebody_ is always on my ass for something, and also because I get bored. That’s the problem with genius, the problem no one ever tells you about: the world isn’t designed to cater to your interests. Eventually you think your way outside all the boxes they’ve got made up for you, so you go find some more. And more and more and more, and your brain doesn’t shut off too easily once it finds something new. Curiosity is a drug, and I’m the biggest junkie there is.

“Maybe one day I’ll come back for you, Morty. W-when you’re older, duh doy, and we can do all kinds of wonderful things. It’ll be you and me against the universe, Morty, a hundred years, a hundred times, Morty. And when y-you look up at the stars, Morty, whenever you feel lonely and look up at the stars, j-just know your grandpa is boppin’ around up there, doing all sorts of crazy crap. He’ll come back for you. We’ll be a team, you and I, and we’ll be Rick and Morty. Someday. Not today, but someday.”

I look down at the toddler in my arms, at the little guy I promised I’d come back for. He looks back at me before snuggling into my lab coat, stifling a tiny yawn. Yes. I don’t make a habit of making promises, because history shows I’m pretty shitty at keeping them. But I think this is one I _will_ keep. I’m not getting any younger, and I’ll need a helper one day. I’ve got a feeling Morty will need me too one day. Not sure why, but it’s just a feeling I’ve got. Sometimes geniuses just _know_ shit with no explanation.

“All right, you’re tired, Morty. Back to bed with you.” I’m also a little paranoid about his parents. If Beth shows up while I’m still here, it’ll lead to so many awkward questions I don’t have the patience to answer right now. I cross the room, lay Morty down on his back in the crib, pull the blankets back over him, and tuck the stuffed elephant back in his arms.

“Okay. Right. You’re good, Morty. Go to sleep.” I back away from the crib and fire a portal at the wall behind me, bathing the nursery in a lime-green glow. “I promise I will be back for you. I will.”

I bite my lip and turn away. My left leg is through the portal when I hear a tiny voice say, “Wick?”

D-did he just say…?

“Wick?”

I turn my head. Morty’s standing up in his crib, the little shit, blankets puddled at his feet. His arms are draped over the top bar, and he’s staring at me. Really gotta quit doing that if he hopes to be any kind of social later on.

“Y-yeah, little buddy. Grandpa ‘Wick’ has to go now.” My eyes suddenly feel a little wet. “I’ll be back, though. Not for a few years, but I will be back.” And because I’m an immature idiot, I flash the devil horns on one hand and stick out my tongue like I did at Flesh Curtains shows.

The last thing I hear and see of him is “Bye, Wick!” and his brave toddler attempt at devil horns.

I’ve got a reason to survive all my wild adventures. I’ve got a grandson who’ll be waiting for me; I made a promise to him.

It’s a promise I plan to keep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy some sweet family fluff with baby!Morty and Rick. You had to know how Birdperson had that photograph of little Morty, right?


End file.
